


To Defend the Innocent

by little0bird



Series: Spring Returning [8]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Battle Jitters, Braime - Freeform, Braime Children, Braime Children Give Their Parents Headaches, Braime Children Learn to Fight, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Pirates, Tarth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: She buckled the sword belt, head bent to wind the end into a knot.  ‘I order you to stay here.’‘Why?  So I can mind the maids and pages?’ Jaime shot back angrily.  He wrapped his own sword belt around his hips. ‘I’m a soldier, Brienne.  I can help you.’Not any more, she wanted to say.  He would be a liability she couldn’t afford in the skirmish.  He’d never regained his form after the injuries sustained in the destruction of King’s Landing, no matter how hard he had tried.  He could manage a few minutes, but the reality was, the sword he wore was just for show. He knew it as well as she. Brienne grasped his hand.  ‘Nikolas and Cwenegth.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘If I were to fall, you’re what they have left.’ She shrugged settling the armor on her shoulders a bit more.  ‘I am the Evenstar. I have to lead. I can’t be seen as someone who is unable to protect their lands.’ She gazed out of the window. ‘In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent,’ she quoted.‘I took the same bloody vow,’ Jaime choked.  ‘You don’t need to remind me.’





	To Defend the Innocent

The horse galloped through the gate, lathered and sides heaving. The rider all but fell off. ‘Pirates,’ he panted. ‘Tyroshi.’

Ser Allyn, the master-at-arms lowered his sword. ‘Where?’

‘Seagate.’ The man took a cup someone pressed into his hands and gulped the cold water gratefully. ‘They got men. We counted a hundred with swords before I left. And archers.’

Allyn looked grim. ‘Come with me.’ He led the man into the hall, slamming a mailed fist twice against the door of the solar before he entered. ‘Lady Tarth,’ he murmured, bowling slightly. ‘Pirates.’

Brienne raked a hand through her hair and threw back the lid of a trunk emerging with a detailed map of the island. ‘Where?’ She unrolled it over the desk, while Jaime placed the clay mugs with the dregs of their mint tea on the sides to keep the edges from curling up. 

The man edged forward and pointed to the northeastern shore. ‘There.’

‘Does this happen often?’ Jaime inquired. He couldn’t recall any previous incidents in the twelve years he’d lived on Tarth. 

‘Last time was just after m’lady went to the mainland to join Lord Renly,’ Allyn muttered. ‘Thought to take advantage of the unrest over there.’ Jaime nearly laughed. “Unrest” was a rather diplomatic term to describe the War of the Five Kings.

‘We’re close to Essos,’ Brienne murmured. ‘Occasionally, pirates or a ranging party from a mercenary company will land on Tarth and cause trouble.’ 

‘They _ try. _’ Allyn rumbled.

‘They always come when there’s a new Evenstar.’ Brienne looked up from the map. ‘Testing the waters, as it were.’

‘How do you know they’re pirates?’ Jaime asked the trembling man skeptically.

‘Them’s pirates, m’lord. With sellswords.’ the man said, tugging his forelock as he turned to Jaime. ‘M’brother’s wife comes from round Volantis, and she speaks that Valyrian tongue. She heard ‘em.’

‘Tyroshi don’t speak High Valyrian,’ Jaime pointed out. 

‘No, m’lord,’ the man agreed, wiping sweat from his face. ‘Not proper Valyrian, Isoldye says. Near enough for her to unnerstand, it is.’ He pointed to a break in the mountain range that ran down the center of the island. Said they wanted to come through the pass.’ 

‘They’ve been scouting.’ Brienne pressed her lips together. The pass was the easiest way through the mountains.

Jaime rubbed his hand over his beard. ‘Could be a trap,’ he mused. ‘They might actually send the larger group of swordsman and archers here.’ He ran a finger around the coast. ‘They could take Evenfall by surprise.’ Robb Stark’s humiliating lesson still smoldered in his hurt pride. _ Go where they think you will not… _ The route along the coast was more difficult, but provided much more cover against scouts.

‘We should ride out today, m’lady,’ Ser Allyn suggested. ‘Catch them unawares. Doubt they know we know they’re here.’

Brienne glanced at the stand in the corner that held the armor Jaime gifted her a lifetime ago. She gave Ser Allyn a brief nod. ‘We’ll have at least a day. Perhaps two before we encounter them. We should be ready to leave in two hours,’ Brienne told Ser Allyn.

Jaime stood and sketched a bow in Brienne’s direction, then left the solar, trying not to limp. He climbed the stairs as quickly as he was able, darting into their chamber. He opened a small trunk and withdrew the Northern style of armor he’d brought back from Winterfell after Tyrion’s daughter, Joanna, was born. Quilted tunic, chainmail hauberk, a boiled leather gambeson. It was much lighter than the steel plate he’d worn in another life at the head of the Lannister army or in the Kingsguard. He unlaced the jerkin he already wore, and let it fall to the floor.

‘What are you doing?’ Nikolas stood in the doorway, looking cross, fingers ink-stained, his lessons for the day obviously canceled. 

‘Come help me with this.’ Jaime held up the tunic. 

‘Is there a reason why you’re donning armor?’ Nikolas swiftly threaded the laces down the front and tied them.

‘Just a precaution,’ Jaime allowed. He ducked his head so Nikolas could lower the hauberk over it. 

‘What would require you to put on armor?’ 

‘Nothing that concerns you.’ He ignored the annoyed expression on his son’s face and adjusted the hauberk and bent forward slightly. Nikolas dropped the gambeson over his head and fastened the buckles on either side. ‘Just do as you’re told.’ He snatched his seldom-worn sword belt from a peg on the wall, and made his way back down the stairs. He burst into the blessedly empty solar. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he proclaimed. Brienne already wore her own armor, her sword belt dangling from the back of a chair. 

‘You’re staying here,’ Brienne said flatly, retrieving Oathkeeper..

Jaime reared back, insulted and bemused. ‘No.’

Brienne drew herself to her full height. ‘Do I command this castle or not?’

‘Yes, but…’

She buckled the sword belt, head bent to wind the end into a knot. ‘I order you to stay here.’

‘Why? So I can mind the maids and pages?’ Jaime shot back angrily. He wrapped his own sword belt around his hips. ‘I’m a soldier, Brienne. I can help you.’

_ Not any more, _ she wanted to say. He would be a liability she couldn’t afford in the skirmish. He’d never regained his form after the injuries sustained in the destruction of King’s Landing, no matter how hard he had tried. He could manage a few minutes, but the reality was, the sword he wore was just for show. He knew it as well as she. Brienne grasped his hand. ‘Nikolas and Cwengyth.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘If I were to fall, you’re what they have left.’ She shrugged settling the armor on her shoulders a bit more. ‘I am the Evenstar. I have to lead. I can’t be seen as someone who is unable to protect their lands.’ She gazed out of the window. ‘In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent,’ she quoted. 

‘I took the same bloody vow,’ Jaime choked. ‘You don’t need to remind me.’

‘I know you did. That’s why I’m leaving the greater part of the archers here. And some swordsmen’ She turned her head to look at Jaime over her shoulder. ‘The castle is yours to defend.’ Brienne spun on her heel and began to stride from the chamber. 

Jaime caught her hand as she passed. A wry smile curved over his mouth. ‘Last one alive burn the bodies,’ he quipped, recalling the jest one of Jon Snow’s black brothers had said in a grim attempt at humor so many years ago at Winterfell.

She tugged him forward, kissed him hard. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

* * *

Jaime strode down the battlements. Evenfall wasn’t nearly as impregnable as Casterly Rock, But other than the Eyrie, there weren’t many places that were. All things being equal, though, it would be difficult to mount a sneak attack on Evenfall. There were arrowslits in the curtain wall, but not enough for all the archers in the House guard. Some would have to risk exposure with the meager protection offered by the crenels. _ Archers on the wall… arrows with barbed and bodkin heads… Can we make more in the time we have left? More archers over the gate… Perhaps with flaming arrows. The swordsmen in the bailey. _ He found himself wishing he’d paid more attention to Jon Snow’s stories about the night the free folk had attacked a badly undermanned Wall. He could use a few of their tricks just now. Jaime stopped to study the slope leading up to the castle gates. If they were coming from the north, he would want to stay in the forests that hugged the coastline. They would never know the raiders were upon them until they left the shelter of the trees and set foot on the beach. _ Let them think we’re completely defenseless. There ought to be some way to let them approach the castle, then set fire to something outside the walls… A couple of archers with flaming arrows can do that. If they choose to attack after sundown, that is. I would… _

Footsteps crunched on the stone behind him. Cwen and Nikolas stood shoulder to shoulder. Cwen had woven her hair into a tight braid, then knotted a strip of dark cloth around her head to keep errant curls from her eyes. They both carried bows and wore smaller versions of the mail and boiled leather armor typically worn by the House archers. ‘Where do you want us?’ Nikolas asked, a stubborn jut to his chin.

‘Inside.’ Jaime pointed at the bailey with his hook. ‘I need you to be inside with the septon.’

‘But you’re out here,’ Cwen pointed out. 

‘Because I’m a soldier.’ Jaime gritted his teeth in exasperation.

‘Evenfall is our home, too,’ Nikolas stated. ‘And I’m the heir. My place is with you and not hiding behind a septa’s skirts.’

Jaime dragged his hand down his face. ‘Do you have any idea what your mother will do to me if she comes back and finds one of you with so much as a scratch?’ He looked each of them in the eye. The two people in the world he loved as much as Brienne. ‘Or worse. Dead.’

‘I’m almost of age, Papa,’ Nikolas said, his voice breaking into a croak. 

‘You’re thirteen, and three years away from being of age,’ Jaime countered.

Cwen tutted softly, then nocked an arrow, brought her bow up, squinted slightly, and then loosed it before Jaime or Nikolas could say another word. It lodged firmly into a gap of the mortar that held the stones of the wall together some twenty yards away. ‘Where do you want us?’

‘This isn’t a game or lark,’ Jaime nearly shouted. ‘You can shoot at a mannequin, but can you do the same when it’s another person on the other side of your arrow?’

‘I suppose we’ll find out,’ Cwen replied coolly. ‘There were fighters my age at Winterfell, weren’t there?’ Cwen asked.

Jaime’s vision blurred. For a brief moment it wasn’t his daughter, with her mother’s pale yellow hair and large blue eyes in front of him. It was little Lyanna Mormont, making up in pride and ferocity what she lacked in size, completely unwilling to sit in the crypt when she could fight. ‘You stay with me. Both of you. No flaming arrows. And when I order you to get your arses inside the bloody castle, you do it. Absolutely no questions or arguments. Understood?’

‘Yes, Papa,’ they murmured. 

Jaime wasn’t fooled. They were about as meek as the goats that grazed the high meadow. _ The two of you are more stubborn than your bloody mother. And that’s saying quite a bit. _ He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. ‘We’ll need as many arrows as we have up here. Get the other squires to help.’ He gazed at the cloth wrapped around Cwen’s head, an idea blooming in his head. ‘Tell the archers I want to speak with them,’ he called after Nikolas. ‘Now.’ 

The chime of a maester’s chain alerted Jaime to the presence of Maester Embrose. ‘Ser,’ the man said, with an incline of his head. 

‘Ah. Maester Embrose.’ Jaime perched on a crenel and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘How well do you know the castle?’

‘As well as most, I suppose,’ Embrose replied with a shrug. 

‘Mmmm.’ Jaime stretched his feet out. ‘There’s a hidden passage in the solar. Under the Evenstar’s desk,’ he said casually. ‘You will be stationed in the solar with a raven. If the pirates manage to somehow take Evenfall, wait for Nikolas and Cwengyth. Send the raven to King’s Landing. Take the children through the passage to the port south of here, and find a boat going to King’s Landing.’ Jaime’s eyes tracked the progress of his children through the yard. His breath caught in his throat at the idea of putting his children into the care of someone else, but if it came down to it, he would sacrifice himself if it meant they would be safe. ‘You’ll escort them to King’s Landing and hand them off to no one except the king himself or Ser Podrick Payne.’ His eyes swiveled to the maester’s. ‘Understood?’

‘Of course.’

Jaime nodded. ‘Good.’

* * *

Jaime hated this part. The waiting for a battle to start. The fingers of his hand drummed restively against his thigh. He desperately wanted to pace the battlements, but it was imperative to his plan that the castle appear undefended. He reconciled himself with staring into the gloaming, at the archers dressed in dark clothing, their faces smudged with soot, hair covered with scraps of dark cloth or dark leather coifs. He hoped the ensuing skirmish would be short with few injuries or casualties on their side. He exhaled slowly and settled against the stones that still held a hint of the summer warmth in them, then let his eyes close.

‘Papa?’ Cwen’s voice seemed as if it came from far away.

‘Hmmm?’

‘Are you sleeping?’

‘Of course he’s not sleeping, you idiot. He’s answered you.’ Nikolas sounded scornful.

Jaime opened his eyes. Nikolas and Cwen sat next to him, their backs braced against the stones. Their eyes glimmered in their soot-darkened faces. ‘Was there something you wanted, Cwengyth?’

She hesitated, toying with the laces on her finger guard. ‘How did you kill other people?’

‘I was a swordsman before. One of the best.’ Jaime mimed slashing motions with his hook. ‘Throat. Stomach. Backs of the knees. I tried to aim where the other person was vulnerable.’

‘No…’ Cwen took a deep breath. ‘How did you feel after?’

Jaime watched as the last light faded from the horizon. _ I went away inside, _ he thought. The part of Jaime Lannister that stopped to consider he was taking another person’s life fell away piece by piece as he donned his armor. He hadn’t relished killing people, but in the midst of a battle, one didn’t have the luxury of morals. ‘You do it, because the person on the other end of your sword, or that you aim for with your arrow, will kill you, given half the chance. Any time you’re fighting someone holding naked steel, you’d best be prepared to use it…’ He trailed off, his missing right hand feeling the _ pop _ as he drove his dagger into Jory Cassell’s eye. It had troubled him for weeks. It was a clean death, of course. Quick. But Jaime had realized it had been needlessly violent, once the fever of battle cooled. He turned his pensive gaze to his daughter. ‘No one will think less of you if you decide to stay in the sept with the others.’ 

Cwen shook her head. ‘No. I might be a girl, but it’s my House, too.’ She glanced down the battlements. Nearly half the archers were women. ‘You don’t see any of them running off to hide. And Mamma would rather die than run from a fight.’

‘What did you do before a battle, Papa?’ Nikolas asked, trying not to fidget too much. ‘You were a soldier, weren’t you?’

Jaime shifted, easing the ache in his hip. He would pay for sitting on cold, damp stone later. ‘It depends on the person,’ he replied. ‘Some pray to their gods. Some fuck-- uh, pass the time with the company of another person...’ Jaime coughed and swigged water from the skin hanging on his belt. That was a conversation for another time. Perhaps he ought to let Tyrion handle that one. ‘Some manage to sleep. Others sit round a fire and drink. Tell stories of their past deeds.’ He repositioned himself against the wall. ‘I never could sleep,’ he admitted. ‘I was always too eager to lead the charge.’ He managed to stopper the skin. ‘I want the two of you to listen to me.’ He waited until he had their attention. ‘If the pirates breach the castle gates, I want the two of you to run. Do you hear me? _ Run. _’

‘Run where?’ Cwen asked.

‘Your mother’s solar. There’s a passage out of the castle under the desk. You’ll come out near the main road to the port. Go to the port and get on a boat going to King’s Landing. Maester Embrose will have sent a raven, so Jon Snow will know to look for you.’

Nikolas gulped and laid a hand on Cwen’s shoulder. ‘Do you really think it will come to that?’

Jaime shrugged. ‘Doesn’t hurt to be prepared. But I hope it doesn’t.’

One of the archers crept as noiselessly as a cat along the battlements and touched Jaime on his shoulder. Jaime had to squint to make her out in the darkness. The archer pointed to her eyes, then out to the beach. Jaime pushed himself to his feet and peered over the edge of a crenel. The sellswords emerged from the trees, their light-colored tunics making them easily visible against the deepening night. They didn’t seem to take any sort of precautions at all to mask their arrival. They seemed to believe the castle slumbered, just as Jaime had intended. ‘Bloody fools,’ Jaime murmured. He counted fifty men clustered on the beach, then motioned for Nikolas and Cwen to take their places in the arrow slits. Jaime cupped his hand around his mouth and hooted in a passable imitation of an owl. 

_ Loose at will _. 

* * *

Brienne slid off her horse, gazing around the courtyard. The Tarth banners still flew from the tallest towers, and bracketed each side of the large doors that led to the hall. She pushed one of the doors open, straightening her weary shoulders and strode inside. Jaime sat at one of the lower tables, Cwen huddled against his side. He got to his feet as she approached, taking in the gash that began in the middle of her eyebrow and ended just under her hairline and the dried blood in her hair and down the side of her face and neck. He wondered if she had sustained other injuries. She would never say so in the hall surrounded by the House guards. He caught the maester’s attention. At the very least, she could have the cut on her head seen to. ‘Lady Brienne,’ he murmured, bowing slightly. ‘The castle is still yours.’

‘Let me help you, Mamma.’ Nikolas appeared at her side, and fumbled with the buckles on her amor. Brienne caught his right hand at the wrist and lightly fingered the bandages encasing his thumb and first two fingers. She plucked at the knot of one bandage until it unraveled, revealing his blistered and bloodied finger. She grasped his chin in her fingertips and tilted his face into the light streaming in through the tall windows of the hall. He’d attempted to wash his face, but had been haphazard about it. Streaks of soot darkened the golden waves around his face. Brienne turned her outwardly calm gaze to Cwen and held out her hand. ‘Let me see your hand, Cwengyth,’ she murmured. ‘The _ right _ one.’ Cwen reluctantly held her hand out to her mother. Brienne gently uncurled the girl’s fingers. The thumb and first two fingers were reddened and blistered, but the skin hadn’t broken. Brienne caught sight of the leather finger guard Cwen had used, poking from the belt around her waist. She could see the tracks of the dried tearstains on her daughter’s cheeks, as well as smudges of soot next to her ears. The faint stench of vomit clung to Cwen. Brienne fixed Jaime with an icy glare. He ducked his head and began to fuss with the buckles on his hook. ‘Might I speak with you in private?’ she asked, as Nikolas removed the breastplate. 

Jaime opened his mouth to argue, but reconsidered at the murderous light in her eyes. He followed Brienne to the solar, and she slammed the door behind him and bolted it. She shoved him against the door. ‘Oof…’ Jaime grunted at the impact. Brienne kissed him almost savagely, fingers digging into his arms. 

She then pulled back, a frown settling over her face. ‘What the bloody hell were you thinking?’ Brienne snarled. ‘How could you let them fight? Have you lost your wits?’

Jaime’s mouth dropped open. ‘Have you met your children?’ he responded, incensed. 

‘_ Our _children,’ Brienne reminded him testily.

‘Fine. Have you met _ our _ children?’ Jaime hissed. 

‘Did you even try telling them no?’ Brienne nearly shouted. 

‘Of course I did!’ He pushed himself off the door. ‘After we’ve stuffed their heads full of honor and duty, did you truly believe either of them would idly sit by while their home was under attack?’

‘They could have died!’ Brienne spat. 

‘They could have died even if they’d been inside the sept with everyone else,’ Jaime insisted. ‘They’ll have to learn to handle themselves in a fight eventually. Peace doesn’t last forever, Lady Tarth,’ he added sarcastically. He bowed with a mocking extravagance. ‘With your leave, I shall withdraw and see to setting the castle back to rights,’ he drawled in what Brienne privately termed his Kingslayer voice. ‘My lady.’ She scowled and Jaime unbolted the door and left. 

* * *

Nikolas and Cwen glanced uneasily at one another. Private family dinners were rare, to say the least. Nikolas couldn’t recall the last time they’d eaten a meal in the solar instead of the hall with the rest of the castle. It was ominously quiet. Almost too quiet. He kicked Cwen under the table and glared at her with comically widened eyes. _ What? _she mouthed.

_ Say something, _ he mouthed back. 

Cwen’s eyes flicked between their parents, and she shot Nikolas a dubious frown. 

Nikolas huffed an impatient breath, and toyed with the spoon next to a bowl. He cleared his throat. ‘How is your head, Mamma?’ he asked lamely. 

Brienne lightly touched the scabbed-over cut. ‘It will heal.’

‘You could have lost your bloody eye,’ Jaime growled, keeping his eyes firmly on the surface of the table. ‘You should wear a helm.’

‘And _ you _ could have gotten an arrow through the heart,’ Brienne retorted.

‘He was wearing armor, Mamma. We all were,’ Nikolas piped up.

‘Northern armor,’ Brienne scoffed. 

‘Will prevent an arrow from killing you just as well as plate when it’s not a direct shot,’ Jaime said crossly, jabbing the top of the table for emphasis, turning to Brienne. ‘You’d have to be an exceptionally brilliant expert marksman, with the time to try and aim through an arrow slit in the battlements from a position on the beach, while the archers in said arrow slits are aiming arrows at you and loosing them at will,’ he snapped. ‘Perhaps I’m not the fighter I was and next to useless in a battle, but I haven’t forgotten how to mount a defense.’

Someone knocked on the door before the argument could escalate even further. Nikolas sighed in relief. A maid opened the door, bearing a tray with a basket of bread and a pot of butter, followed by a pot boy, who carried a tureen, wrapped in a thick layer of cloth. Nikolas caught the scent of lamb stew, and his stomach growled. The maid and pot boy left, and Brienne silently ladled stew into their bowls. He picked up his spoon and began to eat with some agility using his left hand. His father had forced him to learn how to use both hands as much as possible, and tonight, at least, Nikolas was grateful he could manage to feed himself without making too much of a mess. He covertly glanced at Jaime, under the guise of blowing on a chunk of lamb to cool it. Jaime stirred his stew with a morose air, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Nikolas took a deep breath. ‘It wasn’t Papa’s fault,’ he ventured.

Brienne laid her spoon down and folded her hands on the table. ‘What?’ 

‘He tried to make us stay in the sept,’ Nikolas told her. Cwen nodded vigorously in agreement. ‘But we --’ Nikolas gestured to his sister. ‘We wanted to fight.’ He gulped at the thunderous expression on his mother’s face, and continued. ‘You always tell me it’s my duty as the heir to protect my family. I was only trying to do what you would have done.’ His voice trailed off.

‘Be that as it may, it was irresponsible for you to be on the battlements at all,’ Brienne replied in a calm voice that could make most of the Evenfall men quail in their boots. She gave Jaime a significant look.

Nikolas carefully set his spoon next to his bowl, aligning it just so. ‘Oaths and vows aren’t just words,’ he told Brienne. ‘Isn’t that what you say? If I’ve learned anything since Grandfather died, it’s how seriously you take vows and oaths and honor.’ He looked up and met Jaime’s eyes. ‘Both of you.’ He rubbed the back of his wrist under his nose. ‘That bloody ceremony the septon made us do after Grandfther’s funeral, where I had to take oaths -- witnessed by the bloody Seven, no less -- to protect my family. To protect my lands. To protect every last person that lives in this castle and on this island.’ Tears slid unheeded down his cheeks. ‘What kind of lord will I be, if I’m not allowed to do that when fifty sellswords who don’t have the intelligence the Seven gifted to a bloody sparrow arrive at the castle gates?’ he raged. Nikolas pushed his bowl to the center of the table, then shoved his chair back. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he stated before stalking from the room. 

Cwen hurriedly ate the stew in her bowl. ‘May I be excused?’ she asked in a nearly inaudible voice. Jaime motioned to the door with his head, and she scurried from the room, eager to escape the tense silence that had overtaken it in the wake of Nikolas’ outburst. 

Brienne pushed her chair back and walked to the sideboard, where a jug of wine stood with two cups. She returned to the table, and poured wine into each cup, then pushed one to Jaime. ‘You believe I overreacted,’ she stated, speaking into her own cup. 

Jaime picked up the cup and gave her a sardonic look. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve had to resort to this to talk to one another,’ he said, then took a drink. He blew out a slow breath and ate a bite of his meal, then glanced at Brienne. ‘You feel I was careless with our children’s lives.’ Brienne drank. Jaime snorted. ‘Short of binding them hand and foot, then gagging them, Brienne, what would you have done?’

Brienne’s shoulders slumped and she released a shuddering breath. ‘Do you remember Lyanna Mormont?’ Jaime nodded. ‘In order to prepare for the battle with the wights, Jon ordered every man, woman, and child to train to fight. Sword, bow, staff… Some Northern lord protested -- I don’t remember who -- and Lady Mormont stood and declared she wouldn’t stay behind and let men fight for her.’ Brienne drank deeply from her cup. ‘I was… pleased to see her stand up for herself against all those hidebound lords.’ She started to absently rub her forehead, but jerked her hand away when she encountered the crusty scab over her eye. ‘I don’t know that I would have been able to tell Cwen “no” had she said something similar,’ she confessed in a low voice.

Jaime took a slow sip of his wine. ‘Good. Because that’s what she said.’

* * *

The door of her parents’ chamber creaked softly. Cwen padded into the room and stood next to the large bed, then tentatively prodded Brienne on the shoulder. ‘Mamma?’ she whispered.

Brienne came awake all at once, sitting up. ‘What’s the matter? Are you ill? Is it Nikolas?’

Cwen looked down, her cheeks reddening. ‘Could I sleep with you?’ she asked in a small voice. Brienne nodded, and Cwen clambered over her mother’s knees, and slid under the blankets between Brienne and Jaime. Cwen’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I’m sorry if I’m a disappointment to you,’ she sniffled. 

Brienne used the sleeve of her shirt to blot the tears that dripped down her daughter’s cheeks. ‘You could never disappoint me,’ she murmured. ‘Why do you think you’ve disappointed me?’ The line between Brienne’s brows deepened. She and Jaime had independently made conscious decisions to refrain from uttering the same sort of crushing criticisms they’d received as children.

Cwen fiddled with the strip of cloth that bound the end of her braid. ‘After it was over, I vomited and cried,’ she admitted, scorn coloring her voice.

The bedding rustled as Jaime shifted, turning over to face Brienne and Cwen. ‘The first time I killed someone in a fight,’ he began, ‘I vomited, too. I was still a squire and not much older than Nikolas.’

‘Really?’ Cwen sniffled. 

‘Mmm-hmmm.’ Jaime pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard. ‘And to make matters worse, I was sick all over the commanding officer’s boots.’ He managed to brush a wayward curl from Cwen’s eyes. ‘Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.’

Cwen gaped at her father. ‘You were sick all over Ser Arthur Dayne’s boots?’

‘I was lucky. He only laughed. Said it happened to everyone. Then he forced me to clean his boots. I was fortunate Ser Arthur never told my father. He would have disowned me from the shame.’

Brienne pressed a kiss to Cwen’s temple. ‘I cried. And I was much older than you.’ She caught the inquing look Jaime sent over their daughter’s head. ‘I was twenty-seven.’

‘The Stark men?’ Jaime guessed. Brienne answered with a single nod. Jaime could clearly recall how swiftly she’d dispatched the first two men, and the cold savagery with which she slowly skewered the third through his groin. Certainly impressive then, but even more so now that he knew that had been her first kill. ‘When did you cry? I never saw you so much as shed a single tear.’

‘You weren’t meant to,’ Brienne sighed. ‘It was after you’d gone to sleep.’

‘Mamma? Papa?’ Nikolas peered around the door. 

‘Can’t sleep?’ Jaime asked.

‘No.’

Jaime jerked his head toward the middle of the large bed in clear invitation. There was plenty of space. He reckoned it could easily accommodate six. Nikolas hesitated. He was thirteen, and far too old to need comfort. He hovered by the door for several long moments, then before he could change his mind, darted across the chamber and crawled into the bed. Jaime tucked the blankets around Nikolas, thinking his own father would have been appalled by the idea offering consolation and sympathy to one’s offspring. Especially a boy. _ Oh, piss off, _ Jaime growled at the shade of Tywin. He slid an arm around Nikolas’ shoulders, using the stump to rub small circles on his son’s back.

Nikolas rolled the lacing at the neck of his shirt between his thumb and forefinger, and drew in a shaky breath. Brienne often wondered what went on inside her son’s head. He was as stoic as Cwen was emotional, as solemn as Brienne herself had been at that age. His emotional outburst at dinner was an infrequent occurrence. ‘I don’t think I’ve heard that story,’ he mumbled, winding the lace around an uninjured finger, then unwinding it. 

Brienne slid from the bed and found a taper. She lit it from the fat candle on the mantel and quickly lit the candles tucked into a niche in the wall on either side of the bed. ‘It’s not very interesting.’

‘Oh, come now,’ Jaime chided, without heat. ‘She’s being modest. It’s quite the tale,’ he told the children. ‘I was her prisoner. She marched me halfway across the bloody Riverlands on the end of a rope.’

‘Is that when you fell in love?’ Cwen sighed dreamily. 

Brienne snorted, slipping back into bed. ‘No,’ she declared. 

‘Yes, it was,’ Jaime said at the same time. 

‘You did not,’ Brienne retorted, peevishly.

‘I did,’ Jaime corrected loftily. ‘Sometime between nearly drowning in a bath and leaping into a bear pit.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I just didn’t want to admit it.’ He pointed at Brienne. ‘And neither did you.’

‘That seems silly,’ Nikolas observed. 

‘We had reasons,’ Brienne said quickly, hoping to keep some of the more sordid aspects of family history buried under King’s Landing.

‘Three soldiers came upon us, and tried to capture me for their side. She took on the lot of them at once,’ Jaime continued, settling back. ‘They, like most men, underestimated your mother. She dispatched the first two before I could so much as blink.’

‘We stopped for the night.’ Brienne picked up the thread of the story. ‘Your father went to sleep immediately. I hadn’t let myself think too much about killing those men until then. It was far too easy, I thought. I felt terribly guilty for taking someone’s life with less thought than I’d give killing an insect. I had more trouble helping the butcher slaughter lambs here.’

‘Well, those men weren’t going to be part of your dinner later that night,’ Nikolas pointed out.

‘I’d also made the mistake of naming the poor lambs,’ Brienne said dryly. 

‘Even I never did that,’ Jaime muttered. ‘Not with the lambs. The chickens, though…’ He laughed quietly. 

Nikolas looked up at Jaime through his lashes. ‘Does it ever get easier?’

‘No.’ Brienne said emphatically. ‘I no longer weep over it,’ she muttered, pleating the edge of the sheet between her fingers. ‘I do it because I _ have _ to. And only when I have to.’

‘Some grow numb to it,’ Jaime added. ‘That’s when you should worry.’

‘Did you know anyone like that?’ Nikolas murmured sleepily. 

_ Far more than you will ever know _, Jaime thought, but said aloud, ‘A few.’

Cwen yawned widely and she slid under the blankets, curled into a ball. ‘Could we leave the candles burning?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ Brienne studied the candles in the niches. They would burn for a few more hours, then gutter out as the sun rose. 

‘Good.’ Cwen inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. She was fast asleep within moments. Nikolas soon followed.

Brienne glanced at Jaime. ‘When you decided to stay, did you ever picture this as your life?’ She indicated the sleeping children between them.

The corner of Jaime’s mouth turned up in a grin. ‘Not especially. But I did hope.’

**Author's Note:**

> The story Jaime and Brienne tell the children isn't quite accurate, and deliberately so. Nikolas knows Jaime's real identity, but Cwen does not as of yet. So they've left out a rather minor detail that it was the Stark soldiers who wanted to recapture Jaime to be Robb's hostage after Catelyn released him into Brienne's custody. It's the gist that's important to the story.
> 
> Now that I've gotten it in my HC that Jaime barfed all over Arthur Dayne, Ser Arthur is incredulous when Jaime's inducted into the Kingsguard. 'That guy? The one who puked all over my shoes? That one? Really?'


End file.
